


enemy of mine, i'll fuck you like the devil

by voxofthevoid



Series: i'm guilty of treason (i've abandoned control) [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Coming Untouched, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dominance and Submission, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Forced Kissing, Foreshadowing, M/M, Marathon Sex, Masochism, Mild Blood, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Painful Sex, Prayer Circle for Bucky's Asshole, Rape Fantasy, Resistance Play, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Tit Torture, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: He cuts an impressive figure, built like a monster truck and old enough to be Bucky’s father, with silver hair and beard, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and a face that could be genial but might as well be made of marble as he peers down at Bucky.“Agent Barnes,” the man says, voice deep and rumbling. “It’s good to finally meet you.”There’s so muchdramain that one line that Bucky can’t hold back a smile.“Of course it is,” he says lightly. “I’m a hot commodity these days.”It’s not flirting, because Bucky doesn’t flirt with men who plan to rip out his fingernails or beat his ribs in or whatever the fuck these villain types do these days. It’s been a while since he got caught, and well, it’s easier to grin and banter than to ponder over his fate. The man just blinks and, in a move unexpected enough to raise the hairs on Bucky’s nape, runs his cool blue eyes down the length of Bucky’s body, clad only in a compression shirt and boxer-briefs that leave nothing to the imagination.“I can see that,” he says. “Only thing you got going for you, isn’t it?”-First meetings imagined anew and fantasies given flesh.





	enemy of mine, i'll fuck you like the devil

**Author's Note:**

> _He thinks of it, being pressed face-down in the bed, right here, while Steve fucks into him from behind. Thinks, with a guilty thrill that has his ass clenching around nothing, of being helpless and bound in that interrogation room, and how easy it would have been for Steve to just–_ (A paragraph from [if you’re looking for jesus (then get on your knees)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272766) which inspired this fic.)
> 
> This is a rape fantasy being acted out by consenting participants, but the roleplay aspect is revealed only at the end. **Read the tags,** and proceed as per your comfort level.
> 
> I’ve got a [tumblr here](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/) if you wanna drop by.

Bucky manages to play at unconsciousness for a whole five minutes before the person in the room with him, identifiable only by their deep, even breaths, gets tired of the charade and sets about waking him up.

Words would have sufficed; Bucky’s not stupid enough to keep going once he knows he’s been made, at least not in this situation. But what he gets is a hand locking around his jaw, fingers digging in bruisingly as they give him a good shake. Bucky opens his eyes with a muffled groan, blinking fuzzily as the world slowly comes into focus. The hand doesn’t leave, just yanks his face upwards and keeps it there even when the lights sear his eyelids.

Bucky squints and squeezes his eyes shut, only to be forced to pry them open when the fingers grip him harder.

He has to blink rapidly, tears clumping his lashes together, before he can focus on his captor. And it is his captor, Bucky’s been sure of that since he woke up on a stiff chair, stripped to his underthings, with his arms restrained behind his back and another person’s silent presence suffocating him. He can’t get a good look at the person, the light’s behind him, but his silhouette is hulking and impressive in a way that’s directly detrimental to Bucky’s continued well-being.

“Rude,” Bucky exhales shakily because his sense of self-preservation has always been inversely proportional to the amount of danger he’s in.

The hand draws back, and his captor steps away, out of Bucky’s sight. He’s behind him, Bucky knows, and then hands come to rest oh-so-gently on his shoulders, damn near giving him a heart attack.

A few tense seconds pass like that, Bucky barely breathing and his captor looming silently behind him. Bucky wills his body not to shake and takes a quick survey of the room. It’s bland and empty, the walls a drab grey with a few suspicious stains here and there. The only furniture is the chair Bucky’s on, a large metal table in front of him, and another, considerably more comfortable chair on the other side. It’s not quite standard but still clearly an interrogation room. There’s no one-way glass. Bucky tries to find cameras, but then his captor is moving and he’s distracted, with a tightness in his chest that he refuses to call fear.

That doesn’t stop his heart from tripping into a gallop when he finally lays eyes on the man.

He cuts an impressive figure, built like a monster truck and old enough to be Bucky’s father, with silver hair and beard, wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, and a face that could be genial but might as well be made of marble as he peers down at Bucky.

“Agent Barnes,” the man says, voice deep and rumbling. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

There’s so much _drama_ in that one line that Bucky can’t hold back a smile.

“Of course it is,” he says lightly. “I’m a hot commodity these days.”

It’s not flirting, because Bucky doesn’t flirt with men who plan to rip out his fingernails or beat his ribs in or whatever the fuck these villain types do these days. It’s been a while since he got caught, and well, it’s easier to grin and banter than to ponder over his fate.

The man just blinks and, in a move unexpected enough to raise the hairs on Bucky’s nape, runs his cool blue eyes down the length of Bucky’s body, clad only in a compression shirt and boxer-briefs that leave nothing to the imagination.

Bucky doesn’t breathe until the man’s eyes return to his, and then, the look in them makes him exhale sharply, heart hammering in his chest.

“I can see that,” he says. “Only thing you got going for you, isn’t it?”

That catches Bucky off-guard and forces a startled question out of him.

“W-what?”

“You got caught, Barnes. Ah, no, it’s Bucky, isn’t it? Can I call you Bucky, Bucky?”

“_No_,” Bucky snaps, head reeling at the very obvious but very successful attempt by this man to show him that he’s at a disadvantage here and a severe one at that.

“Come on, don’t be like that, Bucky.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, if you ask nicely.”

Bucky shuts the fuck up, burning up from anger and – and nothing. He drags in a few deep breaths, trying to will himself back under control, all the while his captor watches him impassively.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bucky asks once he’s sure his voice won’t waver. “The hell do you want.”

“I’m someone you pissed off, son. You don’t need my name, but you can call me Commander. And what I want, well – I’m thinking about that. Got a few ideas. Want to hear them?”

“Commander?” Bucky asks, sneering. “Explains the costume. You’re one of those fuckers who run about making a mess for any of us doing legitimate work.”

That earns him the first break in his captor’s cool façade. A raised eyebrow and a one-sided grin, neither of which mean Bucky really got to him but is still better than nothing.

“I fuckin’ hate vigilantes, old man. The lot of you run about throwing buildings and shooting lasers and whatnot, then disappear into the fucking ether while we’re left to do damage control. Fucking assholes is what you are.”

The Commander’s grin widens. His eyes crinkle, making him look older and younger at the same time. Handsome too, in a way that exudes grace and dignity.

“I see you’ve got strong opinions, kid. It’s cute.”

Bucky, to his horror, blushes.

“Fuck you,” he spits, voice shaking.

Sharp blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. The Commander is moving before Bucky can even suck in a breath, and then there are fingers in his hair, gripping hard and yanking his head back, forcing his mouth open as his head’s bent painfully backwards.

“Keep saying that, and I might take you up on it.”

Bucky wisely stays silent, glaring at the Commander.

The Commander leans in so Bucky can see his face, and then he draws even closer, until his lips are at Bucky’s ear and his beard is brushing his skin.

“Do you know why you’re here, Bucky?”

Bucky can’t speak even if he wanted to, but he does manage an angry rumbling sound in his throat. It gets him a chuckle and fingers tightening in his hair, turning his scalp into bright points of pain.

“It’s not because you’re good at your job,” Steve tells him casually, breath hot on Bucky’s ear. “It’s not even because you’re much of a nuisance, no matter how hard you try. But that face of yours, boy – prettier than sin. I couldn’t just let you go when you all but fell into my lap.”

There’s heat creeping up Bucky’s spine and his hands are clammy. His captor pulls back, beard rubbing against Bucky’s face and neck, and he feels each touch like hot coals.

“No,” he manages to say, surprised when his voice comes out steady. “Fuck no, don’t even–”

“And how are you going to stop me?” asks the Commander, and Bucky’s horrified to see him already working at the waist of his suit, tugging at invisible zippers.

“I’ll bite your fucking dick off.”

That actually makes the man pause. He blinks, eyes zeroing in on Bucky’s mouth and then narrowing, accompanied by a slow smirk.

“You do have a pretty mouth,” he says, reaching out to thumb at his lips. Bucky snaps at his finger, only for the Commander to yank his hand out of reach. “Behave, kid. I promise it’ll be easier for you if you do.”

Bucky bares his teeth at him.

The Commander shrugs.

“Alright then.”

His hand’s on Bucky before he can react beyond a rushed breath, long fingers wrapping around his throat. The pressure’s light for a moment, the Commander peering down at Bucky like he’s expecting something, but then he’s _squeezing_, a hot, unforgiving constriction that steals the air right out of Bucky.

He struggles, of course he does, writhing in the chair and gasping for breath, all of it futile.

The Commander lets go as abruptly as he took hold of Bucky, and he gulps in air, mouth open wide and frantic, unprepared for the fingers that slide in and hook. Bucky bites down on instinct, but his captor’s other hand is quick to slide around his throat, a firm warning that makes Bucky freeze in his chair.

“Behave,” he says softly.

“Please,” Bucky breathes, voice breaking and muffled by the fingers.

“Ssh. Just open.”

The Commander’s not nice about it. His cock’s a monster of a thing, painfully proportional, and it pries Bucky’s mouth wide open, forcing him to curl his lips over his teeth in fear of the hand still resting on his throat, deceptively gentle.

It gets maybe halfway in before it hits the back of his throat and Bucky chokes, hands twisting ineffectually in metal restraints as he tries to _get away_. The Commander sighs and, with a soft squeeze of Bucky’s throat, pulls out, dragging his cock slowly out of Bucky’s mouth until the wet head is barely touching his lips. Bucky uses the respite to drag in great gulps of air, acutely aware of the hand on his throat, entirely capable of stopping him breathing at all.

“You can do better,” the Commander tells him, sounding eerily like a well-meaning old man dispensing life advice. “Mouth like that is made for this, isn’t it, son?”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says for the third time, the Commander’s threat from earlier moot because it’s already in practice.

The Commander just smiles and feeds his cock to Bucky again. It pushes into his cheek, and the Commander strokes a finger along the bulge it makes, tracing the shape of the head through Bucky’s skin. It’s fucking obscene, and the gesture’s possessive in a quiet, easy way that makes Bucky’s blood boil.

The hand on his throat tightens just a fraction like the man can read Bucky’s mind. He goes deeper, then _deeper_, until it hits the back of his throat again, makes him gag, except this time, the Commander fucking stays there, sighing deeply as Bucky struggles around his cock. And then he keeps going, sliding down Bucky’s throat inch by torturous inch, until Bucky’s nose is buried in the thatch of hair at the base.

The smell’s intense, that incomparable musk that always makes something tighten in Bucky’s gut. He chokes on it, throat convulsing around his captor’s cock as he struggles for air.

The Commander doesn’t move, standing still with his cock rammed down Bucky’s throat. Bucky has to look up to see him, blinking tears out of his eyes. He almost regrets it when he finds him smiling down at Bucky with bright, half-lidded eyes. A wide, calloused thumb traces Bucky’s lips where they’re stretched around his maddening girth, and his smile widens, a tilt to them like he’s fucking proud of how Bucky’s got his entire cock in his mouth.

It's tempting to just bite down, teach the rat bastard a lesson, but maybe it shows on his face, in his eyes, because the Commander tightens his grip on Bucky’s neck until it feels like he’s fisting his own cock. Bucky’s lungs start burning, a mild warning that flares into fire, and then the Commander’s letting go and his dick’s sliding out, and Bucky’s coughing wetly and heaving for air.

“Not bad,” the Commander says, expression remaining placid even when Bucky jerks his head up to glare at him, heedless of his aching jaw and mouth. He puts his hand on Bucky’s face, thumbnail digging lightly into the delicate skin under his right eye. “That look in your eyes. Think I can fuck it out of you?”

“Go to hell,” Bucky says, only to slam his mouth shut at the state of his voice. It’s a hoarse wreck, like the Commander spent a good half-hour fucking his throat.

“Hell’s right here, kid,” he says, stroking the slight indent his nail left on Bucky’s face. “I’ll show you.”

Bucky snorts, almost turns it into full laughter, because fuck, that’s dramatic, but then the same hand gently stroking his face flies to his hair and yanks his head back, harsher than before, forcing a breathless whine out of him.

“Your mouth’s real sweet, Buck. Bet your ass would be sweeter, pert little thing like that. I’ve been watching you a long time.” Fingers slide down his throat, lingering on the pounding of his pulse and the bulge of his Adam’s apple. “Since we’re about to get real intimate, why don’t I tell you my name?”

Bucky struggles to breathe, curses fluttering in his throat, dying before they see air.

“Do you want to know my name, Bucky Barnes?” the Commander asks, tone making it clear there’s only one tight answer, except Bucky’s can’t speak, can barely breathe, and the fingers in his hair are tightening, stinging his scalp and straining his throat, and it’s pure fucking desperation that lets him make a sound that he hopes to god is read as an affirmative.

It must be. The Commander loosens his grip, and Bucky lets his head slump down, breathing and breathing like a man dying.

The Commander crouches down, looks Bucky in the eye.

“I’m Steve. Real pleasure to meet you. Remember it, won’t you?”

Not like Bucky could damn well forget even if he wanted to, but he can’t fight down a shiver at the threat implicit in those simple words. Steve is an oddly benign name, the kind you’d find on your well-meaning office drone neighbor or some smarmy guy with a killer smile in a sitcom, and Bucky’s thoughts are frazzled little things, but he knows with damning certainty that he will never again think of that name without this man eating up his mind.

Steve strokes a hand through Bucky’s hair, gentle, nails scraping the scalp, the sensation undeniably pleasant.

“Let me go,” Bucky says, shocked at how small his voice sounds.

Steve tsks.

“You know I won’t,” he says, moving to stand behind Bucky, hands on his shoulder. “I’d tell you to relax, but son, I like a little fight.”

It happens very fast. Steve must do something, but Bucky can’t tell what or how. His hands are still gripping Bucky’s shoulder when the back of the chair _disappears_.

It’s tech, of course it is, but Bucky registers that only a precious few seconds after the swooping sensation in his gut. He doesn’t fall, but it’s not much better to be scooped up like a child against Steve’s mountainous bulk and deposited face-first on the table.

He struggles, but it’s too little too late. Steve kicks his left leg to the side, and Bucky’s foot slams into one of the table legs. Something slides around his ankle with a quiet snick, and Bucky’s harried attempt to yank his leg away only demonstrates the strength of the restraint. His right leg’s left free, but his hands are still bound behind his back. Steve’s strong enough to easily pin him to the table, and Bucky’s struggles are quick to turn into nothing more than a mere nuisance.

“Well,” Steve draws from behind him, low and condescending. “You tried.”

Then there’s a hand at his ass, and Bucky braces himself for one last struggle, holding his breath for Steve to let his guard down at least while he tries to strip Bucky, but what he gets is a hand firmly holding him down by the nape while another simply rips off his underwear.

It's a casual show of enhanced strength, the fabric giving way like wet tissue paper.

Steve’s palm is searing when it grabs Bucky’s cheek and gives it a firm, borderline painful squeeze.

“Yeah,” he says, and for the first time, there’s a break in his cool composure – desire, dark and dripping from his voice. “That’s real pretty, Buck.”

“Stop,” Bucky says because he has to, but it comes out weak and hopeless, testament to the passive splay of his limbs and the tightness in his stomach. He’s not going anywhere, held down and bound at the mercy of a lecherous old creep.

A lecherous old creep with a big fucking dick, Bucky thinks, breaking out in a sweat as slick sounds fall on his ears. He can’t see Steve, not with that hand still on his nape, pressing him down on the table, but he knows the sounds of lube on dick. He bites his lips till it bleeds and keeps his mouth shut, determined not to beg more because it won’t fucking help, and the resolve lasts right until his ass is spread wide to expose him for the huge, blunt pressure at his hole.

“Wait!” he yells, and Steve, by some miracle, pauses. Bucky grits his teeth and forces the next words out. “You’re too big. It’ll tear me up.”

He’s proud of himself for the calm words, matter of fact like he’s not about to be impaled on a monster fucking cock. And he can’t see Steve, but he imagines he can feel his surprise, and the illusion lasts a few, precious seconds.

Then, Steve chuckles.

“I know,” he says, curving his hand so his nails are digging into the flesh of Bucky’s ass. “I’m going to wreck this little hole, Bucky, and you’re going to scream for me.”

Bucky has a single, effervescent second to feel the full impact of those words before Steve fucks into him.

He’s not gentle, cock wet with lube but too damned big to slide in easy. Still, he fucking pushes in like he wants Bucky split in half, and Bucky screams and _screams_, muffled and broken, body arching in a vain attempt to escape. Steve gets so deep with just that one thrust, and Bucky’s hole keeps clenching around him, burning in pain and fighting against the breach, but it hurts no less when Steve pulls back, as savagely as he pushed in.

There’s no reprieve, the emptiness aching as fierce as the fullness, and then Steve’s fucking back in, and Bucky thought it was too much before, but it’s like with his mouth, Steve sliding in and in and _in_, violently carving himself a place inside Bucky. And it’s a lot, everything too much, too thick, too long, too fucking painful, and Bucky doesn’t realize how loud he’s been screaming until he runs out of breath and subsides into shocked little whimpers.

This time, Steve stills. The hand on Bucky’s nape strokes down his spine in a mockery of gentleness. It joins his other hand on Bucky’s ass, one on either cheek, spreading him wide. It stings his rim where it’s stretched impossibly tight around that cock, and it takes all Bucky has not to beg for mercy. He can feel Steve’s eyes burning into where their bodies are connected. A finger suddenly touches his rim, circling feather-light over the taut skin, and sheer, electric sensation rushes through Bucky’s body.

He expects another comment, cruel and lascivious, but what he gets is heavy silence and broad hands gripping his hips bruisingly.

Bucky gets half a second to prepare himself, and it doesn’t matter one whit because he screams anyway, the sound torn out of him by the sudden, gaping emptiness in him and the equally brutal filling. Steve sets a pace that would drag Bucky along like a doll, speared on his cock and limp with it, but the hands on his hips keep him right there, bent over the edge of the table with his dick swinging between his legs, held in place as he’s wrecked to hell.

The wet slap of flesh on flesh rings in his ears and drowns out all sound. Steve’s not loud; it’s his body that talks for him with finely controlled savagery.

Bucky runs out of breath to scream long before he loses a reason to, and then it’s biting his lips and fighting down whimpers, scavenging for a scrap of dignity so he won’t beg. Knows it won’t help, won’t make this stop. Tries, instead, not to react to the way that thick fucking cock is grinding against his prostate with each thrust, almost by accident. Tries to ignore that it’s not just pain sparking up his spine.

Steve doesn’t touch his cock, doesn’t even look at it, and for that, Bucky’s as grateful as he’s ashamed. He’s damn near trembling, skin hot and slick against the cool metal table when Steve fucks into him with a thrust forceful enough to knock the breath out of his lungs and finally comes.

The spill of it’s a greater shock, filling Bucky up and fucking _dripping_ out of him when Steve pulls out with a motion as casually cruel as his thrusts. It hurts, an ache that roars into a fierce throb, made worse by the heat of Steve’s come.

Bucky doesn’t know what to expect, after. Words, maybe – Steve talking, taunting, flaunting his conquest as if Bucky can’t feel it drench his insides and pulse deep in his gut.

Instead, he gets nothing, just the sound of harsh breathing that abruptly fades to silence, leaving Bucky alone with his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He shifts, hesitantly at first, sucking in harsh breaths when his muscles protest the way he’s contorted over a metal table. He tries to shake life into parts that seem to have gone numb, and it’s not easy with his hands and one leg still bound. Each time he shifts, more come trickles out of his swollen hole, and Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.

Time crawls by. He tries to listen for a sign of life, a presence in the room.

Steve wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t just – leave Bucky here, clothes torn and ass gaping for anyone to walk in on. He wouldn’t–

His heart starts racing, a different kind of fear chilling his bones, and Bucky discovers once again that he’s not too proud to beg. He turns his head as best as he can, towards a corner where he thought he saw a camera before Steve took up his whole world. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut as he forces his cracked lips to move.

“Please.”

It’s a whisper. His voice is hoarse, pitiful.

The answer is almost immediate – footsteps, not far away.

A warm hand settles on his flank, and the gratitude that rushes Bucky makes him tear up, Anger follows quickly, burning hot and utterly impotent.

“Hush now,” Steve murmurs, that deep voice a faux-soothing rumble. “All you had to do was ask.”

That hand slides up Bucky’s leg, groping along the inside of his thigh as it heads, invariably, towards his ass. Steve’s finger smears a line of his own come, rubbing it into Bucky’s skin, an animal marking territory.

Bucky gives a full-body shudder, doesn’t speak.

There’s a familiar slick sound, and then blunt pressure at his aching hole. Steve slides in easier this time, Bucky already open from the first round, but maybe that’s a problem because his hand comes down _hard_ on Bucky’s ass before he’s even halfway in. Bucky shouts, can’t help it, and clenches down hard on the cock in his ass.

Behind him, Steve hisses in unmistakable pleasure.

“Should’ve known,” he says, voice all throaty. He rubs the spot he spanked, fingers rough and groping. “Bruise up like a dream, don’t you, kid?”

Another hit, harder this time, on the other cheek, and Bucky screams again. Steve slides in deeper, harsh and jerky, sliding home with a grunt. He grabs two handfuls of Bucky’s ass, right where they’re smarting and likely bruising and uses them as handholds as he starts fucking in earnest.

He's as rough as before, thrusting in and out, never going quite as deep as the ache inside Bucky says he can. It’s not much of a relief, not when Bucky’s hissing his breaths, ass burning where Steve’s fingers are dug in to keep him spread obscenely open. He can feel Steve’s heavy stare there, watching himself slide in and out of Bucky.

He pulls out suddenly, steps away, and Bucky has just enough time for a flash of fear before the metal circling his ankle slides away. He barely gets the time to move that leg before he’s being grabbed by the hips and flipped over, nothing gentle about it. He makes a piercing clang as he’s slammed back into the table, metal meeting metal. Bucky hisses a breath, more in shock than anything. It doesn’t hurt much, but the discomfort is pronounced, both arms still tied behind and now under him, aching with the weight of his body. The cold shock is almost a relief on his ass where Steve hit him, but it soon turns into a different kind of burn.

But Bucky’s more concerned with the man looming between his legs. He meets those blue eyes for a fleeting second and registers their assessing glance before looking away, face burning. He’s got more freedom like this, hands bound but legs free. He considers it, for a moment, but then there are hands on his thighs, shoving them wide apart, and that hope dies a fluttering death.

Bucky’s bent in half before he can even blink, leaving his ass wide open, still sluggishly leaking come. He knows, without needing to check, that Steve’s looking there, enjoying what he’s done to Bucky. The hands on his thighs shift into a single forearm across them, and it shouldn’t be such an effective barrier, but it is, keeping Bucky trapped. Enhanced strength, turned into this.

A thumb slides into him, not much, barely an inch. It crooks harshly, tugging at Bucky’s rim and ripping a shocked little sound out of him. It hurts, the sting sharp and immediate, but the next moment, the pressure turns soothing as that same thumb rubs sweet circles along the edge. He’s playing, Bucky realizes between a gasp and a smothered whine – playing with Bucky’s hole, tugging it this way and that, massaging the swollen rim.

The worst comes after, when he tires of Bucky’s hole and slides that hand up his body, bring it to rest on his half-hard cock.

“Look at that,” Steve says, smug pleasure radiating from him. “Little slut.”

Bucky grits his teeth and opens his eyes to glare, but he knows it’s a mistake, knows it even before he meets those damned blue eyes.

Steve looks him in the eye when he fucks back into him. He yanks Bucky’s hips onto his cock, leaves him poised dangerously at the edge of the table, and when he lets go of Bucky’s legs, they dangle for a single, unsteady moment before strong hands force them around Steve’s narrow waist. He’s clothed, Bucky realizes with a start when Steve leans more fully over him. It’s just his cock that’s exposed, the rest of him still clad in that dark, bulky suit.

And then there’s Bucky, naked from waist down and being fucked sloppy, the fabric still covering him from neck to fingertip somehow making him feel more vulnerable than being naked would.

He closes his eyes on a particularly vicious thrust but can’t stop crying out at the electric spark that comes from a glancing slide on his prostate. He’s always been sensitive there, and it’s turning against him now, the sheer physical pleasure of being fucked.

Fingers ghost over his cheek, shocks him into opening his eyes, right in time to see Steve’s face startlingly close to his, but too fucking late to jerk away from the kiss that’s thrust on his mouth.

Bucky yelps into it, can’t help himself, and tries in vain to turn away from the tongue that slides past his lips. Steve’s hand is merciless on his jaw, keeping Bucky where he wants him, all while his hips grind deep and dirty against him. Bucky pants into it for a moment, head fucking spinning, and then he comes to his senses and bites down, _hard_.

He tastes blood, hears Steve’s sweet cry before he wrenches away, sees the red burst on his lips and chin, and then his face is snapping to the side, cheek exploding with pain. His head hits the metal table, and he sees stars. He’s still groaning when the same hand that struck him sinks into his hair and yanks his head up, forcing his body to twist up.

The kiss is rougher this time, tasting overwhelmingly of blood. Steve bites down hard on his lip until Bucky gasps from the pain, and then his bleeding tongue is sliding inside, again, twisting around Bucky’s tongue like he owns him.

Bucky, abdomen quivering at the angle he’s forced into and head spinning from an avalanche of sensation, moans pitifully into the kiss.

Steve fucking growls, kisses him deeper, fucking Bucky’s mouth with his tongue, hard and filthy like the cock rawing his ass. His mouth fills with the taste of spit and blood, and it goes to his head, fucks him up, makes him writhe and whimper.

Steve pulls back with a wet sound, teeth bared and bloody. Bucky pants for breath, everything _burning_, face and ass and cock.

“You liked that,” Steve says, looking not at Bucky’s eyes or mouth but at somewhere lower, and Bucky’s already got a tight feeling in his chest when he follows that gaze to his hard cock. Steve slides a finger through the wetness at the tip, scraping his nail along the flushed head, and Bucky’s traitorous cock jumps.

Bucky shudders and clenches around Steve, tells himself he can’t help it.

Steve’s not unaffected. He fucks Bucky deeper, with newfound violence, but he kisses him again too, keeping his body in a sharp, brutal arch, forcing his mouth open for gulps of air and the slick slide of tongue. Bucky finds himself whining into it, caught in a cascade of sensation, everything too much, too sharp.

Steve breaks the kiss, and Bucky opens his eyes to see a string of saliva connect their mouths. It breaks when Steve licks his lips, eyes intent on Bucky and whatever expression is on his face. He feels drunk and too damned sober, all at the same time. Steve grips his hips, changes his angle and fucks right in, sliding his thick cock along that spot, and a full-body shudder tears through Bucky.

“Can see why Nick keeps you around,” Steve says, fingers carving bruises on Bucky’s heated skin. “You take it so good, don’t you?”

Bucky musters the will to bare his teeth at Steve and barks out, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Why?” Steve says, unbothered. “Got you here for that, don’t I?”

And then he _speeds up_, and Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long time.

He shouts himself hoarse instead, noises punched out of him every time Steve’s body slams into him, and it’s a relief when it ends, even when that comes with another burst of heat inside him, drenching his insides and dripping out of his twitching hole. Steve makes a mess when he pulls out, with one last slap that falls like fire on Bucky’s trembling thigh.

He steps away, leaving Bucky splayed out on that table, but he doesn’t let go of his legs. Keeps them suspended and spread wide, watching as his come drips down Bucky’s crack and onto the floor. Bucky watches him watch it, dazed and shaking, feeling as weak and unbalanced as a newborn kitten.

Someone curses, in a voice drawn low and hot, and Bucky takes a moment to realize it’s Steve, mouth open and eyes fever-bright as he takes in the wreck he’s made of Bucky.

“Can’t get enough of you, kid,” he says, and Bucky doesn’t know how to react but his body does, gut swooping.

Steve moves fast and before Bucky knows what’s happening, he’s being gathered into strong arms, scooped up like a child. It’s an opportunity, he’s distinctly aware, but he can’t manage anything beyond an uncoordinated squirm before Steve’s dropping into the nice chair with Bucky held tight to his chest.

“Behave,” he whispers in Bucky’s ear, teeth biting down hard on his lobe after. Bucky keens.

Steve tugs him into a sitting position, arranging him on his lap, lowering him without warning onto his cock, half-hard but solid enough to sting as it slides into Bucky’s tender ass. Bucky ends up bowed over Steve’s torso, knees on either side of his thighs and hands still behind his back. The hands on his hips keep him from moving around, keep him impaled on that thickening cock.

Bucky’s breath is rattling in his lungs, and then Steve steals it altogether with a kiss that still tastes of blood.

It’s all he does for some time, mapping Bucky’s mouth with lips and tongue and too much teeth, and it’s like a drug, the way it takes hold of something inside Bucky and shakes things loose. He’s a mess when Steve ends the kiss, flushed hot and shaking.

He’s still got the sense to be scared of the sudden light in Steve’s eyes when his gaze runs down Bucky’s body and catches on something.

Bucky closes his eyes instead of following that trail of blue, but he gets an answer anyway, when a hand leaves his hip to rub teasingly at one pebbled nipple.

“Got tits for miles, don’t you,” he says, flattening his hand to palm Bucky’s whole left pec. He squeezes hard, and Bucky’s breath stutters in his lungs. “That feel good, huh?”

Bucky shakes his head, but he’s fooling no one.

It’s not quite a surprise when Steve grabs the fabric between Bucky’s pecs and yanks, tearing it with more easily than a normal man ever could. He doesn’t rip the shirt off entirely, just enough to expose Bucky’s chest. Bucky looks down, knowing it’s a bad idea, and whines at the view that greets him; it’s fucking obscene, the sight of his sculped chest jutting out from between the smooth black of his compression shirt.

Steve’s quick to return his hand to that nipple he was teasing, tugging it into a tight, red bud. The rough pad of his thumb brushes along the peaked nub, making Bucky’s breath catch each fucking time, but it’s nothing to the way everything goes white and hot when Steve closes his teeth around the nipple. He bites down, gentle first and then not, and Bucky fucking screams.

Steve licks a stripe up the throbbing bud and sucks, all wet heat. His hand doesn’t stay idle long, turning to Bucky’s right side, squeezing his pec roughly before taking the nipple between two fingers, pressing and tugging, again and again.

The stream of sounds from Bucky grows louder and louder, and he can’t fucking breathe, caught between Steve’s mouth and hand on his chest and his cock filling up in his ass, and he has to move, even though he’s got nowhere to go, even when every fucking twitch makes him shift on Steve’s cock, until he’s almost fucking himself along the length of it.

“Stop,” Bucky gasps when Steve’s teeth sink sharply into the side of his chest. “No, please, I can’t, I _can’t_–”

A kiss on the mouth, fast and hard. Teeth cut into his lip, leaves him stunned and silent, but then Steve’s switching sides, mouth sliding over the smarting nub his hand tugged to soreness and fingers catching the wet left nipple and _twisting_.

Bucky shouts, arching his back, and Steve’s cock shifts inside him, pressing against his prostate. He shouts again, the sound petering out into breathless gasps when Steve keeps twisting and fucking biting until his nipples feel like twin bruises, throbbing with a sharp, piercing heat.

It feels good, is the thing, the pain like a live wire to his crotch. His cock’s leaking, and he can’t escape the hard cock inside him, grinding against him deep and right with each restless shift of Bucky’s body.

“Please,” Bucky begs again, arms writhing helplessly in their bondage, “c’mon, please, please,” and the worst of it is that he doesn’t know what he’s begging for.

Steve only gets more savage, biting bloody marks along Bucky’s chest, sucking hard at his aching nipples until they’re almost numb with it, then twisting sharp and true, until Bucky’s screaming and breathless in turns, reduced to air and sound and movement.

His wrists ache where he’s tugging helplessly at his restraints, but that’s nothing compared to the burn inside of him. He’s so fucking sore, and he can’t stop moving, can’t stop writhing like he can escape if he just squirms hard enough except all that does is get him bouncing on Steve’s cock, grinding his ass down on that hard length as he tries in vain to get away from Steve’s teeth.

He feels suspended between the mouth on his chest and the cock in his ass, spiraling higher into a place he can’t come down from.

It's worse when Steve turns gentle because Bucky knows it won’t last but also because it’s worse, the kitten licks and soft suction too fucking intense on his abused nipples. Bucky whimpers when the tip of Steve’s tongue circles around a throbbing bud, screams when it’s followed by teeth closing mercilessly over it. Steve tugs, and Bucky arches in his lap, somehow driving himself down _hard_ on his cock. His own dick’s a drooling mess, fully erect and embarrassingly wet, and he doesn’t want to think about it, but it’s hard when each passing moment sends him careening hopelessly towards the metaphorical edge.

He’s begging, cursing, spewing utter nonsense, at least when he’s not screaming himself hoarse, but Steve doesn’t seem to hear a single sound. When Bucky risks a glance down, he finds that silver head buried happily in his chest, nuzzling the swell of muscles while one huge hand squeezes the life out of them. It’s gonna bruise like a bitch, teeth-marks and fingerprints sinking deep into skin, and Bucky’s left keening at the thought.

Steve growls, mouth around Bucky’s right nipple, sending vibrations quivering through delicate flesh. He bites down the same time his fingertips clamp down on the other one, and Bucky loses his fucking mind.

He comes, sudden and shocking himself silent with the intensity of it. Blinding white flashes behind his tightly shut eyes, and his body tightens all over, ass clamping hard around Steve as he shoots all over himself. Some of it catches him on the chin, the sensation prompting another set of violent convulsions that leave him slumped and spent, nowhere to lean on except Steve’s solid bulk.

Bucky ends up with his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder; the uniform is hard against his cheek, scrapes against skin when Bucky’s body is rocked by Steve’s thrusting hips.

And he is thrusting, now, hands crushingly tight on Bucky’s hips to keep him there for Steve to fuck into, his movements frantic in a way that wasn’t when he wasn’t driving Bucky up the wall with his hands and mouth. This is more like before, when Bucky was bent over that table, except worse, more forceful, and there’s nothing for him to do except curl into Steve and take it.

He does, whining and twitching helplessly but not going anywhere except up and down on Steve’s cock.

The flood of heat, of come drenching his walls, is a shock even after all this time. It draws a deep, throaty moan out of Bucky. Steve’s silent but his breathing is hard and ragged, the sound loud against Bucky’s ears. He softens inside Bucky, making him shudder again, and then once more when come starts to trickle out of his hole. An old man shouldn’t be able to come so fucking much, Bucky thinks, snorting a little.

Steve stirs at that, one hand slipping into Bucky’s sweaty mess of a hair to scratch at his scalp. It’s so gross but feels so good.

“What’s so funny, pal?”

Bucky tells him.

Steve chuckles, and the movement of his torso jolts Bucky, makes him shift on Steve’s dick. They both hiss, clutching at each other. Bucky moans when Steve grips his hips and slowly, carefully pulls out. His rim flares, sore beyond words.

“Ssh,” Steve hushes, running a hand up Bucky’s spine. “You’re alright.”

Bucky just sighs and doesn’t say a word even as Steve sets about gathering him up and getting out of the chair. He manages to coax Bucky out of his koala-cling and into a bridal carry, holding him close to his chest in a way that makes him feel soft and secure. It’s disorienting, the sudden change from the knife-edge of danger that colored their interaction up until a few minutes ago, and Bucky has to close to close his eyes and suck in several deep breaths.

He keeps his eyes closed when Steve takes them along a meandering path that feels familiar in spite of it, like these very walls have sunk into Bucky’s bones. Maybe they have. Wouldn’t be so bad, to make a home in this labyrinth of gunmetal grey. Would be significantly less dysfunctional than most of what he’s done since he signed up for the JROTC at fifteen.

He knows without opening his eyes that they’re in Steve’s room, not the smaller one Bucky’s been assigned and never sleeps in anymore. He’s lowered gently to the bed, Steve’s hands soft and careful on him, the violence they committed earlier a distant dream. Bucky doesn’t know how Steve does that and so well too, whereas Bucky is still left reeling over the sudden change. Steve, to his credit, says nothing, just sits by Bucky and strokes his hair, letting him have the time Steve knows he needs.

When Bucky finally feels up to speaking, what he says is, “Get this shirt off me.”

Steve does. Asks no questions, just rips it off Bucky and slides the tatters from under him. The display of strength has Bucky biting his lips, worn out as he is.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times. The room’s lit but dimly, just enough that he can make out Steve’s features. Bright blue eyes are peering down at him, crinkled at the corners and so damnably soft.

“Hey,” Bucky says, smiling instinctively.

“Heya, Buck,” Steve returns, the hand stroking Bucky’s hair sliding down to cup his cheek – the bruised one, skin still throbbing to the shape of Steve’s handprint. Steve traces the edge of the hurt with a thumb, and the smile that quirks his mouth is smugly pleased.

“Kinky old pervert,” Bucky says, helplessly amused.

“Your kinky old pervert,” Steve returns easily. “You wore me out, kid.”

Bucky grumbles and hits his shoulder with a fist. It’s about as forceful as a toddler’s punch, but Bucky’s disgruntled mumbling garners a reaction.

“What, you think I’m lying?”

“I think,” Bucky says very carefully, trying to make his tongue work around consonants that suddenly seem very tricky, “that you’re a supersoldier who can get it up again in another half an hour if I look at you right, but that I ain’t gonna walk for, like, a week.”

Steve’s smile widens and manages to look even more pleased.

He stands up, and Bucky lets out an unconscious whine at the sudden distance. Steve smiles sweetly at him and starts stripping, peeling his combat suit off with more ease than it’s skin-tight, padded appearance would suggest. He gets back in bed once he’s naked, lying down beside Bucky with his head propped up on one arm. He gathers Bucky close, and Bucky lets him without complaint, relishing the touch of bare skin on his. He’s glad Steve stripped first, doesn’t think the uniform would have helped him relax as easy when the memory of the scene is still bright in his veins.

Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s spine and hesitates only a second before venturing down to cup his ass. Bucky hisses at the touch on his tender skin, but Steve’s gentle with him, brushing his palm almost soothingly down the bruised flesh.

“God,” he breathes, so quiet that Bucky almost doesn’t hear him.

“Good?” he whispers, soft but knowing Steve will be able to pick it up.

“More than,” comes the immediate response. “You were perfect, Bucky.”

Bucky preens, wriggling happily against Steve, pushing against his body in an attempt to sink into his flesh.

Steve kisses his forehead, and his hand slips between Bucky’s asscheeks as he cups one securely in his palm. It doesn’t feel erotic, though the skin there is still stinging hot from the spanking and there’s come trickling out of him to wet Steve’s hand. It feels good, safe, like Steve’s _got_ him, is holding him sweet and secure in that huge, powerful hand.

Bucky tucks his head into Steve’s neck and just breathes.

He drifts off, at least he thinks so. Nothing’s changed when he returns to awareness with a little start, but he gets the sense that time has passed anyway. Steve hasn’t moved except to lay his head down, chin tucked over Bucky’s head.

“You alright?” Steve asks, and Bucky shifts back a little so he can see his face.

“Mm. Sore as all hell. It’s perfect.”

Steve smiles, smug again. He taps Bucky on the forehead.

“And here?”

“Peachy. It was fun to pretend, but I know you. Can’t ever not know you.”

“Fun to pretend,” Steve repeats, mouth curling up at one corner. “Hell of an actor, ain’t ya, Buck?” His gaze trails meaningfully down to Bucky’s cock.

And Bucky blushes.

He can’t bring himself to look Steve’s in the eye when he speaks again, face flaming something fierce.

“Didn’t know that was gonna happen.”

Steve’s fingers grip his chin and tilt it up, a motion as familiar as breathing now but one that makes Bucky blush harder in this situation.

“You’ve never come untouched before,” Steve says, and that’s heat in his eyes, one that pulls at something in Bucky’s gut despite how thoroughly fucked out he is.

“I – I didn’t…”

He trails off and looks down again. Steve lets him but only so he can trail his fingers down to brush over Bucky’s oversensitive nipples. It _hurts_, even that light brush of a touch, and Bucky’s breath catches on a whine.

“Fucking Christ, kid,” Steve swears, fingers clenching into a fist like he’s only barely stopping them from playing with Bucky’s chest again. And it’s a hell of a thought, Steve pinching and flicking them until Bucky’s well and truly at the edge and begging for mercy, but he can’t take it now, no matter what his insatiable hindbrain is saying.

“Ssh, later, kid. I’ve got plans for you.”

“_Steve_.”

“C’mere, Buck,” Steve says, pulling Bucky back into the safety of his neck with a hand at the back of his head. Bucky goes to him gratefully, exhaustion pulling at his bones and his mind.

“Should clean up,” he protests half-heartedly, more out of obligation than anything.

“Later,” Steve says firmly, settling comfortably against Bucky. “For now, rest. I’ll watch over you.”

“Y'always do,” Bucky slurs, sliding gratefully into asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Did they empty the whole of Base 3 for their sex games? Yes, they did.
> 
> Let me know what you think! And [here's the link](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-guilty-of-treason) to my tumblr tag for this series.


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